


the universe makes it all even out (in the end)

by hotelmichelle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Domestic Avengers, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelmichelle/pseuds/hotelmichelle
Summary: Bucky used to read all these science fiction novels with morally ambiguous scientists and half-alive monsters. Perhaps that’s what Steve is now; a thing with half of itself missing. Perhaps that’s what the universe is now.





	the universe makes it all even out (in the end)

**Author's Note:**

> __
> 
> _“no, no, it’s not all random, if it really was all random, the universe would abandon us completely. and the universe doesn’t. it takes care of its most fragile creations in ways we can’t see…maybe it is a lottery, but the universe makes it all even out in the end. the universe takes care of all of its birds.”  
>  -R.J. Palacio_

Afterwards, Steve wordlessly wanders away from the group. He sits on the Wakandan jungle floor until Natasha comes to retrieve him.

She fiercely refuses when he tells her to go back to the palace. He knows that she won’t be moved unless she wants to. He didn’t think it possible, but Natasha has grown even more stubborn over the past 2 years. She pushes at him, doesn’t let him just sit around and feel sorry for himself. At the very least, she doesn’t let him do it alone. It’s a forceful kind of support but, he’s never appreciated being treated with kid gloves.

Steve doesn’t say anything, and they end up sitting beside each other in silence. Time passes. Natasha leans her head on his shoulder; a light, peripheral thing in his mind. Steve stares. From somewhere deep inside him, he suddenly remembers something Sam once told him.

Shortly after Sam had returned from his second tour, his grandma had suddenly passed. A stroke, Steve thinks. Sam had just lost Riley and he was back home in a place that didn’t feel familiar at all. “I got real down,” he’d explained. “Sometimes I’d be sitting there and then, suddenly, it was dark outside. And I’d realize that I’d been staring at nothing for hours.”

At the time, Steve’s gut had felt like someone was giving it a little tug. But it was in sympathy rather than empathy. Steve, for all his great tragedies and misfortunes, has always gone through the motions. It’s in his nature to refuse himself a rest. For all the terrible things fate has handed him, Steve has always gotten up.

Now, he stares and stares, and he steadfastly does not feel a thing. There’s numbness in his body and static in his brain. Bucky used to read all these science fiction novels with morally ambiguous scientists and half-alive monsters. Perhaps that’s what he is now; a thing with half of itself missing. Perhaps that’s what the universe is now. He imagines himself split down the middle, arteries and bones sticking out where their connecting parts has been wrenched away.

Gruesomely, the mental picture makes him chuckle. It’s a little puzzling because he’s never had a particularly dark sense of humor before. It’s even more puzzling because he knows, logically, that there is nothing funny about this at all. His main artery has been cut like an umbilical cord and all he can do as he bleeds out is laugh to himself like the world’s biggest fool.

“What’s funny?” Natasha asks, lifting her head from his shoulder. He’d forgotten she was there. The little weight on his shoulder is like white noise compared to the deafening static in his head.

Steve cannot reasonably explain what is funny to her. So, he just shakes his head and shuts his mouth to stop the bizarre outburst.

When he meets her eyes, there’s fear in them. Natasha doesn’t scare easily. Steve has seen her shot and stabbed and hunted down. She’s seen far more tragedy than even he knows, and it only ever made her braver. It must be bad, Steve concludes foggily; he must be bad.

Natasha pops to her feet. “Get up, Steve,” he says down to him. It’s oddly pleading. Just another strange thing in this horrendously strange turn of events. Maybe he is actually dreaming. Even better, maybe he is actually dead. Yes, that would be lovely.

“Stand up,” Natasha orders now, voice rough.

He does.

  
  


They go back to the palace because it seems like the thing to do.

Shuri comes rushing up to them, followed closely by Nakia. She has tears in her eyes and is speaking rapidly to Okoye in their native language. For the first time since Steve was introduced to her, she looks every one of her 17 years. Shuri’s unflappable exterior has suffered fatal cracks and beneath is a scared child, a little sister. Okoye speaks to Shuri in calming tones, gently leading her away from the Avengers.

Nakia turns to them. “If you wish to stay, you may return to your quarters and remain there for now. We have crucial matters to discuss but we will check in with you later,” she tells them. Then, she is gone.

They return to their quarters because it seems like the thing to do.

Once there, they collapse into the various chairs and couches in the common area. There’s nothing that any of them can say and so, the Avengers—former idols and fugitives and victors—sit in silence. They have been in a great variety of situations together, but never one like this.

Time passes.

Then, Steve blinks and realizes that Thor is talking.

“Well then we must locate it,” he’s insisting.

It is only now that Steve fully acknowledges that Thor has acquired a talking raccoon. He is arguing with it. He should feel surprise, wonder, _something_ , but he just doesn’t. Did Natasha slip him something? He dumbly looks at her and then around the room, half expecting the walls to splinter or the floor to morph into ashy shards, leaving them in the expansive jungle. His searching eyes find their way to his lap, his slack hands. They’re both battle dirty, but his left is blackened with ash, like it’s dead and rotting already. He imagines gangrene creeping down his fingers and onto his palm, licking at the ulnar artery, sending black flecks gushing towards his heart.

“Hey, man,” Bruce breaks into his trance, one hand on Steve’s right forearm. He instinctually wants to lash out and toss Bruce across the room, but he stifles the fleeting urge. The way every eye in the room is laser focused on him tells him that Bruce has been trying to get his attention for some time. “You alright, Steve?” He asks.

Steve nods mutely. Out of all the gazes on him, Natasha’s is the most burning. He knows that if he looks at her, he will see that same raw fear he saw in the jungle. So, he doesn’t look.

Thor continues whatever he has been saying. Steve focuses on Thor’s voice and the words coming from his mouth. Though the haze, he knows that he must listen closely if he is to catch up on the discussion without outright asking what has been said. “We cannot accept this fate,” Thor proclaims. “The woman said we could choose to stay here or not and I no longer wish to remain. If you want to sit around and mourn, that is your choice, Rabbit.”

“Hey, wait a second here, I never said anything about sitting around on our asses,” the talking raccoon shouts up at Thor. “All I’m sayin’ is that we need some kind of a plan, which you don’t have!”

“I do have a plan,” Thor asserts.

“How could you possibly already have a plan?” Rhodey asks.

“I formed it just now, as I sat there.” Thor motions to the spot on the couch where he’d been sitting. “We will locate Thanos and the gauntlet. Then, even if we cannot obtain the entire gauntlet, we must at least acquire one of the stones. This will lure him to wherever we are, so we will return here. Then I will cut off his head with my new hammer,” Thor explains.

“How do we know he’s even gonna follow us? What if the dude’s retired now?” The raccoon fires back.

Thor brushes off the objection. “He will never be satisfied with an incomplete gauntlet.”

“No offense, dude, but that plan sounds really half-assed,” Bruce tells him.

“That matters little. It will take some time to locate Thanos anyways, so we will work out the details later.”

The raccoon apparently doesn’t agree. “By ‘work out the details,’ you mean ‘make an entire plan.’ And what happens if you’re wrong? What if we find him super quick and then we have no plan because you expected it to take longer?”

“We will deal with these issues later,” Thor says dismissively, picking up his new hammer from the coffee table. “You do not have to come, but I am leaving immediately.”

The raccoon sighs, likely recognizing that Thor is beyond convincing. “Well, as far as half-baked plans go, I guess this one isn’t completely terrible,” he admits, gathering up his belongings too.

Thor waits for him in the doorway. “Glad to have your confidence, Rabbit.”

The Avengers each say their goodbyes to Thor. When it’s Steve’s turn, he claps a hand on Thor’s shoulder like he did to Bucky just this morning. “Take care, Thor,” he tells him, and he means every syllable of it. He is truly sad to see Thor go away again so quickly.

Thor’s eyes look old and perspicacious, like he’s seeing all the terrible things swirling around in the background of Steve’s consciousness. He puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “You take care of yourself too, Steven. I know too well the madness that grief can bring.”

Before Steve can even respond, Thor takes his hand away and looks down at his odd new companion. “Ready?” He asks. The raccoon nods. “Very well then. Friends, I will check in soon.”

He steps easily over the room’s threshold and the futuristic door slides shut behind him. Then, just as abruptly as he arrived, Thor is gone.

Time passes.

Someone turns on the TV.

It seems the news is truly 24/7 these days; CNN has a helicopter circling Avengers Compound. In what they used to refer to as their “back yard,” a smoldering jet lies at the end of a long, charred path. Anderson Cooper introduces a clip that was apparently taken earlier today. In the recorded clip, Tony stumbles out of the crash-landed jet, shielding his eyes from the sun. The suit covers him but only in odd patches, like skin with road rash. He waves at the helicopter and then meanders into the Compound like he’s drunk.

“We’ve got to call him or something, tell him how to get here,” Bruce says.

Steve, who has become the de facto Wakanda expert of the group, speaks up. “It’s not that simple. They’re not overly fond of mass numbers of foreigners entering the country, especially now. And-…well, to put it nicely, Shuri is not Tony’s biggest fan,” he explains.

Bruce waves for Steve to pause his explanation. “Wait, sorry. Which one is Shuri again?”

“She’s T’Challa’s younger sister,” Natasha answers.

“Did I miss something? When did she meet Tony?” Rhodey breaks in.

“Or,” Bruce inquires, “is it about the weapons manufacturing?”

Natasha’s eyes flick to Steve, seeing if he’s going to take this one. When he doesn’t jump to answer, she does. “That’s part of it. But I think most of it comes from her relationship with Barnes. She worked on his arm after Tony shot it off.”

The name alone makes Steve feel like he’s going to cry or throw up or do something else embarrassing. It used to be like this, after Bucky fell and Steve woke up from something that he didn’t intend to. But he thought that part of his life was over. He thought he had done his time feeling this way at the mere mention of Bucky’s name.

Steve knows that the room is expecting him to add on but what he really wants to do is end this conversation before it turns into something else. So, all he says is: “Shuri doesn’t forgive easily.”

Bruce waves a hand to halt the dialogue there. “Wait, go back. Tony shot off someone’s _arm_?” He exclaims.

“We told you it was bad,” Rhodey reminds him.

“Okay, yeah, but you didn’t tell me that Tony shot off someone’s fucking arm!” Bruce presses his fingers into his temples. “Guys, guys, this is the kinda thing that I gotta know.”

Steve doesn’t disagree. That doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t wish to have this conversation now, or probably ever. Natasha, as always, protects him. “That’s not the point. Shuri doesn’t like Tony, it doesn’t matter why. All that matters is we’re going to have a difficult time getting him into the country right now.”

When Bruce opens his mouth immediately after she finishes talking, she turns to him sharply. “Another. Time,” she grits out under her breath. Bruce is giving her all kinds of “you are explaining this to me later” looks but he doesn’t say anything else.

After a beat, Rhodey looks to Steve, curious. “You said Shuri doesn’t forgive Tony.”

Steve nods.

“Do you?” He asks.

“Yes,” Steve says simply, because it’s the imperfect but practical response. The reality is that he has never, ever given his full forgiveness to anyone who has intentionally brought Bucky harm, and Tony is no exception. Yet, the reality is also that his blazing anger has burned out and been replaced with lambent annoyance. The reality is that he misses what Tony was in his life and he would gladly accept having that back, damaged as it is.

“Well then we’ve got to go get him, Steve. We can’t just leave him there alone,” Rhodey maintains, and nobody is going to argue with that.

As promised, Okoye comes to check in with them. When they ask to leave, she shows them to the jet they arrived in. The others won’t notice the difference, but the palace and hanger are eerily empty. In fact, it seems that all of Wakanda has been summoned away. They don’t run into another human being on their way out.

All of Steve’s previous exits from Wakanda have been filled with hugs and smiles. This one is sterile and silent. He thanks Okoye and she wishes them well. There’s no mention of returning soon. There’s no teasing about what present he will bring next time.

They simply board the jet and take off.

Natasha holds his hand for most of the ride to New York. At the Compound, they are greeted by Tony and a friend he made during his time in space. She’s blue and robotic and in another time, she would have been the most bizarre being that Steve had ever laid eyes on. Now, he doesn’t bat an eye as he shakes her hand and introduces himself.

“Nebula,” she mumbles in return.

She’s stained with grease and seems to be in the process of repairing the spaceship that she and Tony came here in. They stay and talk with her for a few moments, telling her that yes, Thor left to pursue Thanos but no, they have no idea where he went.

“That’s okay. I will find him,” she claims. There’s too much conviction for her to be talking about anybody but Thanos.

Eventually, Tony waves them away from her, rambling on like always. There’s something undeniably changed in him though. His hands tremble even when he clenches him into fists at his sides. He stinks like liquor. Simply put, he’s missing his spark.

Though no one in particular leads the way, they end up in the conference room. It’s the place where they’re accustomed to having serious discussions and this is, without a doubt, a Serious Discussion. Everyone here is running on instinct alone. It’s a mildly terrifying thought, like growing up and learning that your parents don’t know everything.

They cycle through three phases: talking, arguing, and silence.

It begins with talking. They re-hash events that have occurred or clarify truths that they have learned. This feels productive; they’ve all got a different piece of the puzzle and they can’t finish this thing unless they put them all together. People ask questions. Clearly impossible realities are ruled out, leaving behind fewer conceivable answers.

Inevitably, someone hits a nerve. There are far too many exposed tensions and emotional landmines in this group, on this day. Tony is drinking steadily and Rhodey loudly opposes that. Bruce asks things that he shouldn’t because he doesn’t know that he isn’t supposed to. Natasha doesn’t want to be there at all, says they should all separate and come back to this tomorrow. For his part, Steve must concentrate to avoid going inside his own head.

The arguments don’t last long. Once upon a time, most of them lived together on and off. They threw parties together and had team brunches the next morning. They dragged each other out of the Tower to try new restaurants or attend midnight premieres. They trusted each other not just with their own lives, but the lives of their loved ones, too. Once upon a time, they were all friends.

Exhaustion and sympathy creep back in, settling the room down. They lapse into silence.

Rinse and repeat.

During one of the silent periods, Rhodey speaks quietly in Tony’s ear and they exit the room together. Steve is unbelievably glad that he does. Unselfishly, because he wants something or someone to ease Tony’s pain but knows that it cannot be him. Selfishly, because that kind of crippling grief is ugly, and he doesn’t want to see it anymore. He doesn’t want to see the ugliness that everyone else is probably seeing in him.

Soon after that, they seem to collectively become aware that it is past 1 in the morning. They filter out of the conference room and into their respective bedrooms.

  
  


It’s nearly 4 in the morning by the time Steve gives up on sleeping. He wanders into the kitchen because while his body can go long periods without sleep, it demands a basic caloric intake. At the breakfast bar, he finds Tony bent over on his elbows like a shadow.

Purposely making his footsteps audible, Steve walks toward the refrigerator. He glances at Tony while he pours himself a glass of orange juice, mainly just to acknowledge his presence. He’s pushing scrambled eggs around on his plate. For as long as Steve has known him, Tony has had a thing for scrambled eggs. It might be the only thing that he can make himself and is willing to eat.

“You can’t sleep either huh?” Steve asks.

Tony scoffs. “Yeah. Can’t imagine why.”

Steve notices a handwritten note next to Tony’s plate. He doesn’t want to ask, but Tony catches him staring at it and tells him anyways. “Nebula left,” he says. “I was just beginning to like her, too. Said she’s got some major score to settle with Thanos. But I think we bonded when we were on Titan together, you know, after.”

The thought of Tony stranded on an alien planet with a stranger disturbs Steve on some core level. He quickly pushes the idea away and Tony doesn’t say anything else about it. Steve takes a few big swallows of the orange juice, then re-fills his glass. He holds the carton up in offering, but Tony shakes his head, so it gets put away. Tony’s fork scraps against his plate. Either he made an unusual amount of food and already ate a normal portion, or he hasn’t eaten more than a bite. Steve suspects it’s the latter.

“I’m sorry about Barnes,” Tony says quietly. He could be referring to several different things. Does Tony mean “I’m sorry I shot Barnes’ arm off” or “I’m sorry Barnes turned to dust in front of your eyes”? He doesn’t ask. It doesn’t really matter.

Steve nods. He thanks him because that’s what you’re supposed to say when someone says that they are sorry you have suffered some unspeakable misfortune. Then he adds, “I’m sorry about Pepper.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tony says. There’s nothing else they can really say to each other. Steve sips his juice, gradually making progress with it. Tony takes a miniscule bite, probably only because someone else is there to observe him and his full plate of food.

By nature, Tony cannot allow silence to rest for too long. So, it’s no surprise when he starts talking again in that rapid fire, distracted way of his. “It’s weird being back here, isn’t it? Is this weird for you?”

“It is weird,” Steve agrees.

“Have you looked through your old room? You know, it’s the exact same. Well, it’s probably a bit dustier than before. I didn’t let the maids in there.”

“Thank you, Tony.” He’s not quite sure why Tony is sharing this.

“It was more for me, to be honest. I figured cleaning out your guys’ rooms would be, well, kind of awkward. Don’t wanna stumble upon any tentacle sex toys or anything,” Tony rambles.

“I don’t own any tentacle sex toys,” Steve states.

Tony shrugs. “Hey, you never know, old people are really kinky.”

Steve just stares at him. “Tony, I’m 34.”

“Sure, sure you are, Cap. You know, you can’t just switch your age when the situation suits you? It’s very inconvenient for people like myself who try to make fun of you.”

“I’m sorry I’m inconveniencing you, Tony,” Steve deadpans.

Tony stares at him for a second, as if to make sure he’s not actually making Steve angry. 

“I forgive you,” Tony says. It’s so quick that someone who doesn’t know Tony well would take it as a flippant, throwaway comment. Yet, there’s something about the way Tony won’t look directly at his face when he says it. It’s a small, genuine thing from someone who rarely displays any sort of social submission.

“I forgive you too,” he replies softly. He hasn’t been so gentle with Tony Stark in three years. 

Tony nods, giving him a glancing moment of eye contact, and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. There are plenty of things about Tony that Steve cannot understand, but this isn’t one of them. This, Steve gets. Even if they never speak another word to each other on this topic, Steve knows that they are at least on the same page about one thing.

  
  


The Avengers do their first joint press conference in over two years. The initial suggestion seems laughable; that half the universe should be destroyed, and they are sent to keep their little nation afloat. Yet, the truth is that their world is on shaky ground. The last thing anyone needs right now is for another government to fail. And the United States, a nation constantly broadcasting their best and worst to the entire world, would be an awful power to lose. There’s only so much damage control that can be done after the President and half of Congress turned to dust, but it’s better than sitting around waiting for Thor to call them back.

It’s just like old times, mostly because that’s the only way they’ve been taught to do a press conference and Pepper isn’t around to babysit them anymore. Tony introduces them and Steve talks for most of the time. He has note cards but refuses the teleprompter. He purposely doesn’t utter the country’s name because, whether anyone realizes it or not, he’s speaking as Steve Rogers.

He talks about unity and the importance of looking after your fellow human beings and resilience in this time of great pain. Bruce claps him on the back as soon as they’re backstage. “Great job, Cap,” he says.

In that moment, Steve realizes two things simultaneously. One, he couldn’t care less what people call him anymore. And two, he cannot remember a single thing that he just said to the world.

There’s a swift and positive reaction to the press conference, so Steve keeps this development to himself. Natasha knows something is up though; she’s too perceptive not to. When they get back to the Compound, she hovers around him and doesn’t even try to conceal it.

Steve doesn’t call her out and doesn’t bother trying to tell her lies. Instead, he plants himself on the couch as everyone else scatters about the Compound. She plops into the most comfortable chair in the room and arranges herself into her favorite sitting position; sideways with her legs dangling over one of the armrests. She takes out a book she bought two weeks ago in a tiny, Estonian café.

Eventually, his sketchbook ends up in his lap. He flips quickly past all the sketches of various skylines and the different anatomy studies. When he finds the next available blank page, he begins drawing Sam. He hadn’t planned on it beforehand but now that the blank paper is in front of him, it’s suddenly all mapped out in his head.

On his paper, Sam is facing forward and grinning. It gradually becomes more and more detailed, like a snapshot of something Steve can’t allow himself to forget.

He misses Sam more quietly than Bucky, but no less. Bucky’s existence, or lack thereof, is loud and demanding in Steve’s mind. It cannot ever be ignored. On the other hand, Sam’s absence is more comparable to the panic of realizing mid-takeoff that something crucial has been forgotten at home. It simmers beneath the surface for a while; a nagging feeling that something is wrong. Then, it spikes and feels unsurmountable. This happens repeatedly, as Steve’s brain seems to have a harder time recognizing that Sam is gone.

Steve has been without Bucky before, as painful as it was. But until now, he has never been without Sam. It’s a unique and novel hurt.

  
  


The fog breaks on their second night in the Compound. Steve is in the shower, lingering under the hot water because he’s still gathering the strength to step out. Then, like the thought was placed into his mind by some otherworldly force, he remembers: Bucky grinning at him in the warm light of the palace’s shower. Bucky’s metal fingertips, hot from the water and grazing across his shoulder, feather-light. Bucky’s soaked mop of dark hair. The little wisps had clung to his temples and his forehead. He’d refused to give it anything more than the occasion trim.

Abruptly, Steve is sobbing in loud, heaving gasps. He cups his hands in front of him to collect water to splash on his face, but he’s shaking so hard that a good portion of the water splashes out.

He remembers: Bucky shivering dramatically. He hadn’t wanted to get out of the shower, but Steve had held up his wrinkled fingertips as proof they’d been in there long enough. Steve had wrapped him in a fluffy towel, the kind only found in Wakanda’s royal palace. He’d settled between Steve’s shins as Steve sat on the edge of the bed and brushed out his long hair. And Bucky had teased him, purposely flipping his dripping hair onto Steve’s bare leg.

Steve steps out of the shower now, shivering as the water droplets evaporate from his body. He doesn’t reach for the towel. His gut lurches and he leans over the toilet instead, retching violently. It’s mostly bile; he can’t remember eating dinner, or even what the others ate.

He remembers: Bucky leaning on his shoulder, later that night. It had taken a minute or so, but the dampness had soaked through Steve’s t-shirt eventually. “Jesus, Buck,” Steve had complained, all for show. He’d recapped everything they’d done since the shower to illustrate how long it had been. Bucky’s hair always took so God damn long to dry.

Alone in his bedroom in the Compound, Steve manages to get dressed. He crawls into his bed, hair still damp and tangled. He pulls the duvet up to his chin, shivering and vaguely aware that it’s May in New York and he shouldn’t be cold.

Time passes.

There’s a little knock at his door. A small fist and their customary rap. He knows it’s Natasha before he sees her blonde head peeking inside. “Can I come in?” She asks.

Steve nods without lifting his head and she steps inside, softly closing the door behind her. She’s dressed casually and wearing baby pink socks. She perches herself on the side of the bed, curling one leg up and leaving the other to dangle over the side of the mattress.

“You look terrible,” she points out.

“Thanks,” he responds dryly.

Natasha runs a hand through his hair, telegraphing her motions so that Steve has the option of telling her to stop. He doesn’t. It feels nice and he doesn’t have the energy to deny himself this. After just a moment, Natasha makes a disapproving face and pulls her hand back, clicking her tongue at him.

“When is the last time you combed out your hair?”

Steve honestly can’t be sure. “This morning?” He guesses.

Natasha scowls down at him. She pushes herself off the bed and returns with a comb from the bathroom. “Sit up,” she demands, pulling on his shoulder as if she’d be able to force him up.

Obediently, he sits up and accepts the comb that Natasha puts in his hand. He combs out his hair like a robot. She studies him and then takes the comb back when Steve hands it to her.

“You look terrible,” she repeats.

“You mentioned that.”

Her face turns stern. “I’m serious, Rogers.”

Steve sighs. “I know you are,” he admits.

It’s completely unlike her but, Natasha looks like she doesn’t know what to say to him. He knows he wouldn’t either, if the roles were reversed. “You will see him again,” she says.

His response is automatic. Bitter. “You don’t know that.”

“You will see him again,” she repeats. “And if I let you kill yourself over this, he’s gonna kill me.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Nat,” he reminds her.

“We look out for each other, remember?” She’s using his own words against him, quoting something he’d told Sam and Nat in the very beginning. He had cut his stay in Wakanda short after hearing that they’d gotten into some trouble during a mission in Malaysia. The two of them had apologized profusely, admitting they’d underestimated the threat. But Steve had brushed them off.

Equally dismissive, Natasha puts a hand on his shoulder to push him down and end the conversation there. Steve rolls his eyes at her bossiness but lies down again.

She sits diligently on the edge of the mattress until she is explicitly invited to lie down with him. Still, Natasha stays safely on her side of the bed. She lies on her stomach, propped up on her elbows with her book closed in front of her. He can’t stop himself from calling her out on her uncharacteristic conservatism.

“Like I told you before,” she explains, flashing her typical smirk. “I’m just trying to avoid getting strangled once he gets back.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Steve chides on instinct.

Natasha gives him a look. “You really think that he wouldn’t commit murder if he found out someone had crawled into bed with you while you were emotionally compromised?”

Steve considers this. “Alright, you may have a point.”

“I know I have a point, Rogers.” She is quiet for a moment as she locates her book mark and flips to the appropriate page. “Would you like a bedtime story?”

“Isn’t that book all about serial killers?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Okay,” he agrees.

She starts reading to him from the page she left off on. “These are people who take up mass violence as a personal assertion or political statement to compensate for their own hopelessness, pathos, failure, and/or lack of purpose. Again, that inner despair may be in constant conflict with a sense of personal grandiosity and unfulfilled entitlement, but these-…Close your damn eyes, Rogers, this is a bedtime story.”

He does.

  
  


Their third morning in New York is interrupted by Clint’s arrival. He speaks only when he must and there’s no spirit behind his eyes, like someone has sucked the soul out of him and left only the shell. It’s a dreadful thing to accept, but there is truly nothing they can say or do for him.

As Steve is setting his cereal bowl in the sink, his phone rings. It’s Shuri, sounding better than she had when he saw her last.

“Are you still with the others?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.

“Please put me on speaker.”

Without hesitation, he switches his phone to speaker, clicks the volume up, and holds it out so the room can hear. “Guys, this is Shuri.”

“I have news. Your lightning god friend was just here and he asked me to tell you all to return to Wakanda immediately. I, for one, was somewhat skeptical, but he was very insistent. So, we will allow your team to enter Wakanda with the purpose of remaining here until all of this is un-done. Please remember that-”

Impatient as always, Tony cuts her off. “Alright let’s cut to the chase. Are we signing a contract or something?”

There’s a brief pause before Shuri’s controlled voice comes through the phone again. “As I was saying,” she continues pointedly, “please remember that Wakanda has typically been closed to all foreigners. We ask that you respect that this is new and strange for us. I hope that this will not be an issue, as we are eager to work with you all officially.”

Several baffled glances are exchanged amongst the team. Bruce is the one that speaks up first. “We’re…uh, excited to work with you guys too?”

“Good!” Shuri exclaims, relieved. Steve is almost positive that someone put her up to that little speech. “Now that that’s over, Steve, will you bring me more of the little chocolate cups with the peanut butter inside?”

Steve can’t help but smile at that.

They gather Shuri’s snacks and wait at the Compound to be picked up. The ship that appears for them is the most distinctly Wakandan thing Steve has ever seen. It’s slick and so fast that they are probably mistaken for an alien spaceship by the people who manage to get a glimpse of them. Tony and Bruce are particularly astounded, speaking excitedly to each other for the entirety of the shortened ride.

Tony’s child-like excitement as they pass through the force field is surprisingly charming. For a moment, it’s like he’s back to his old self. Seeing the truth of Wakanda brings his spark back and even though it will likely fade out again, Steve is glad that he got to see it.

Tony bounds off the plane first, loudly marveling at their new surroundings. He’s so busy taking everything in that he literally almost walks into Nakia, who has come to meet them. There are greetings and introductions as they head inside, but Tony is more fixated on something else. “Who made the tech on that ship?” He asks.

“That was Shuri,” she replies.

“Shuri, the teenager on the phone?!”

“Yes,” Nakia confirms. “That Shuri.”

“How old is that tech? Has she developed much since then?”

Nakia seems unfazed by Tony’s curiosity. “Shuri is always developing new technology. You can ask her yourself in a moment.”

True to her word, Nakia leads them through a set of double doors. The palace is a maze that he and Bucky never even scratched the surface of when they were here. However, he recognizes this as one of Shuri’s preferred hangout spots. The room they enter has two-story windows and is decorated with modern furniture. There’s a massive TV, but the screen is dark. Shuri is splayed out on one of the large black couches and talking to someone though a futuristic tablet. When she sees them, she quickly tells the person on the other end that she has to go. She tosses the tablet aside and bounds up to Steve.

Already knowing what she’s going to say, he beats her to it. “The Reese’s are being brought up as we speak,” he tells her.

She smiles up at him, a little subdued. “I knew there was a reason I let you hang around here.”

Steve quickly runs through the introductions of the team members she hasn’t already met. When it’s Tony’s turn, he offers a question instead of his name. “So, you’re the one who developed the tech for our ship?”

Shuri shakes his hand when he offers it, but she’s eyeing him suspiciously the whole time. “Yes, I developed the technology for the ship that I allowed you to use.”

Tony blinks at her. “Okay. Anyways, I don’t say this often, but that was incredible.”

“Thanks,” she tells him politely. Then, she turns back to Steve. “Your friend should be back anytime, and I expect we should be prepared for a fight. Do you want to try out a new design for your shield, or are you already attached to the other one?”

“Hold up, new design for the shield?” Tony asks.

Shuri rolls her eyes at him and speaks as if she’s talking to a child. “Yes. Unless he prefers the one I already gave him and he left here.” Pointedly, she directs the last part to Steve.

“We left in a hurry,” Steve explains. “And I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to take it with me.”

Shuri looks like she’s disappointed in his cautiousness. “If you were not allowed, you would know it.”

Tony can’t help himself from interjecting, this time to no one in particular. “Wow! Okay, that’s how it is now. You see one piece of cool tech from somebody else and now the whole Cap Clique is moving into the basement. No, I get it, it’s Abandon Tony Week, I see.”

There’s no chance for anyone to get a response in because the room is suddenly illuminated by a blaze of light. Thor materializes, sweaty and bleeding from a minor gash on his right shoulder. Rocket is kneeled and panting at his side. Thor’s fist is closed tightly, but green light glows through the cracks between his fingers.

“Thanos is coming,” he gasps, like they’re stuck in a time loop.

Immediately, Steve’s world narrows to that simple fact. Thanos is coming. They need to get ready, he thinks. They need a plan and gear and weapons and-

“Where’s Nebula?” Tony asks. He isn’t one to fake sadness or grief, and he’s certainly not faking it now.

Thor lowers his head. “She gave her life to ensure we had this chance,” he says, lifting his closed and glowing fist. Concealed by his fingers is their chance, the only opportunity they have to live in the one universe where things turn out okay.

Almost as soon as Thor gets the words out, there’s a massive boom from above them. From there, it’s a mad scramble. Everyone is grabbing weapons and pulling on tactile gear. Natasha and Clint bicker over who packed their respective ammunition in the wrong bag. Thor stashes the stone in Shuri’s lab and won’t let anyone touch it. Someone puts an ear piece and a new shield in Steve’s hands. They’ve performed near identical versions of this pre-fight scramble, but they’ve never been this desperate. By the time they get outside, the jungle is on fire and there are four-legged, sharp-toothed creatures everywhere.

“We need a more cohesive plan,” Steve says into the comms after he is swiped in the face by one of the creatures. The gash in his cheek burns, but a couple inches lower and it could have been much worse. So, he can’t really complain.

“I agree,” Thor replies.

The next voice is Tony’s and it shatters any hope they had of forming a plan. “Guys, massive purple asshole located,” he announces. “Come help me ASAP or I’m haunting you all.”

Steve turns and sprints for Tony’s location as he and Thor talk back-and-forth on the comms.

“Do not lose him,” Thor commands.

“Um, working on that,” Tony replies, sounding pre-occupied. He is, Steve finds as he breaks through the tree line. Thanos has Tony by the throat by the time Steve reaches them, crushing the neck of the suit. So, it’s an automatic reaction to jump on Thanos’ back and test out his new vibranium claw feature on his neck.

Steve barely breaks the skin. Thanos reaches around to pluck him off and toss him aside. Steve swears that for a superhero, he always lands in the most inopportune positions. This time, he’s flat on his face. He spits out dirt as he wearily pushes himself up, but Tony is free.

Natasha and Okoye chime in; they’re with Clint holding back the apparent onslaught of creatures just beyond the tree line. Rhodey shows up briefly but is quickly flung into oblivion. Rocket hangs close by, firing on any creature that makes it past the others and tries to lunge at Steve and Tony. Hulk roars from somewhere nearby, but he doesn’t wear comms and won’t get anywhere near Thanos anyways. This leaves Tony and Steve alone until Thor can get out of whatever situation he’s found himself in.

From the ground, Steve watches Tony blast Thanos in the face and have no effect. “Thor, where are you?” He grits out. No matter how creative he and Tony get, their odds of making it out of this are slim without Thor and his new weapon.

“I’m on my way,” Thor swears through the comms, and they can only trust him.

Tony buzzes around Thanos’ head until he’s unceremoniously swatted away, like a gnat. He flies backwards and through the trees, disappearing in the trail of broken trunks and branches. Thanos reaches for Steve then. He tries to catch the gauntlet again, but Thanos anticipates it this time. He swipes him up like a doll with his gloveless hand. It’s okay, Steve tells himself. Thor is coming.

“Where is it?” Thanos demands.

Steve pointedly doesn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he kicks his legs into Thanos’ torso and digs the claws of his shield gauntlets into the massive purple fingers around his neck. Blood oozes down Thanos’ wrist. It splatters, warm and dark purple on Steve’s chest as his trachea is squeezed shut.

The hold around Steve’s neck loosens then and Thanos gives him a curious look. “You truly do not realize that you are defeated, do you?” He asks, lips curled up.

“As long as one man stands against you,” Steve chokes out, “you’ll never be able to claim victory.”

Thanos’ eyes are intrigued and cold, but not lifeless. There’s a mind behind those eyes, a soul; just not one that values their existences. “Noble sentiments from one who is about to die,” he asserts.

His fingers squeeze Steve’s throat again and there’s an inherent seriousness behind it this time. This game has run its course. Willing himself to be calm, Steve digs the claws in again and feels the satisfying warmth of Thanos’ blood soaking through his uniform. His lungs are burning, but Thor made them a promise.

In the end, it’s Thanos that brings it upon himself. Contrary to his convictions, the universe is not on his side; it does not value genocide or artificial equilibrium. The universe wants to rebound against the unnatural thing he has done.

So, it gives the Avengers this do-over.

Thor appears over Thanos’ shoulder; true to his word. Steve barely has time to register his presence though, because a flash of lightning blinds him. He’s sent flying backwards and lands flat on his back this time, coughing and gasping. He pushes himself into a sitting position and has a clear view of Thor, who is transfixed on the ground in front of him. The first thing Steve realizes is that Thanos is lying, unmoving at Thor’s feet. The second comes with a wave unadulterated elation; the handle of Thor’s hammer is sticking out of Thanos’ throat.

Thor looks up then, eyes still glowing a blinding white. It’s been a long time since Steve was in awe of him but, in the jungles of Wakanda with royal purple blood dripping from his fingertips, there is no denying that Thor is a god.

There is another furious burst of lightning when he yanks the hammer out of Thanos’ neck and raises it above his head. When it clears, Steve approaches to find Thor kneeling on the ground. He has Thanos’ disembodied head in one hand. Blood still streams from the severed neck, but at least the eyes are closed. Thor stands then, holding his prize but not verbally acknowledging it.

Clint’s voice is in Steve’s ear. “What did you guys do? All these things are retreating.”

Tony lands with a clang at his side, immediately gaping at Thor.

“Converge on my location,” is all Steve can say.

“So, it worked?” Tony sounds choked up, even from inside the suit.

“It did,” Thor confirms. “Though our job is not yet finished.”

The head of the Iron Man suit ebbs away, revealing Tony’s face. “Is that what I think it is?” He asks, eyeing the head.

Bruce stumbles though the tree line, clad in only the Hulk-proof shorts that Tony made him after New York. His eyes fly straight to the purple and bleeding head in Thor’s grasp.

“What-dude, Thor, what the fuck is that?” Bruce splutters. He stops in his tracks before he gets too close to Thor, who has turned his attention to the gauntlet still on Thanos’ lifeless fist. When Steve moves to help, Thor waves him away.

“This?” Thor asks loudly, holding up the head with one hand. Bruce flinches. “This, my friend, is the head of Thanos. Don’t you recognize it?”

“Did you-oh my God, dude, put it down,” Bruce says. Thor does. He goes back to struggling with the gauntlet while Bruce gawks. “Did you cut it off??”

“Of course. How else would I have removed it?” The gauntlet comes free suddenly and Thor almost falls backwards. He stares down at it, completely enamored by the little glowing gems.

The rest of the team filters through the trees around them, but the mood isn’t as celebratory as Steve expected. Possibly, it’s because this victory is not their ultimate goal. No amount of Thanos’ blood will bring their friends back, though the golden glove in Thor’s hand might.

“You know, Shuri is gonna freak if you try to bring that into her lab,” Natasha comments when she sees the disembodied head.

“Then we can keep it on the ship,” Rocket offers.

Thor shrugs. “I believe I can convince her.”

“That is highly unlikely,” Okoye states.

“We shall see,” Thor concludes, picking up his belongings.

When it becomes clear that he has two hands to carry his hammer, the gauntlet, and Thanos’ head, Tony raises his hand like a child. “Dibs on carrying the universe-destroying glove!”

Something about the comment makes Steve's blood pressure rise a little bit. Logically, he knows that Tony makes insensitive and irksome remarks to avoid dealing with his emotions. He just really wishes sometimes that Tony had an off switch. Or, at the very least, the capacity to refrain from making jokes about an incident that just so happened to kill half of their closest friends. Okoye pointedly rolls her eyes and heads towards the palace without another word.

“That’s not funny,” Natasha says. Steve would agree out loud, but he doesn’t want to waste time fighting with Tony — or anyone, for that matter. This was supposed to be a joyful moment and he’s not going to ruin it by being angry with Tony.

“Unfortunately, you are not powerful enough to hold it on your own,” Thor replies simply. He tucks the hammer into what they collectively refer to as his “magic belt” and starts after Okoye towards the palace. They all follow suit, making their way out of the jungle and across the expansive field where they originally fought Thanos’ army of creatures.

“Wait, you’re really bringing that with us?” Bruce exclaims.

Rocket speaks up. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Remind us again how a disembodied head is going to help us do, well, anything?” Tony argues, gesturing with his arms.

“Who cares if it doesn’t do anything? It’s a cool souvenir,” Rocket says.

“Exactly!” Thor agrees, grinning. “It will make a fine reminder of this momentous occasion. As well as a sign to future aggressors that I am always true to my word.”

“So, you’re going to, what, like, display it??” Bruce asks, incredulous. “You’re not displaying it in the Compound or anything, right?”

Thor considers this. “I have not yet made a final decision about how I will utilize it.”

“Well,” Tony breaks in, “you’re not displaying it anywhere close to where I’m going to be sleeping.”

“Tony,” Rhodey says in his warning tone.

Bruce tries a more rational approach. “Uh, don’t you think it’s a little-I don’t know, gruesome?”

“Friends, this is meant to be a momentous occasion!” Thor declares, waving the arm that holds the item in question. His wide gesture causes drops of purple blood to fly.

Tony jumps back dramatically, though he is still inside the suit and was never in any real danger of being hit. “Hey, watch where you’re swinging that thing! Momentous occasion or not, I don’t want psycho universe destroyer blood on me.”

Again, Steve holds his tongue. Thor is right; this is supposed to be something to celebrate. They’re one step closer to fixing this nightmare of a situation. It’s not the time to argue, Steve tells himself. It’s just Tony being Tony. They don’t need to argue.

“Suit yourself,” Thor shrugs.

They march along in silence and it appears the conversation is over. Rhodey quietly falls into step beside Tony, as if that will keep him docile. Natasha and Bruce lag behind the group, speaking in hushed tones. Now, all Steve wants is a hot shower and a long, productive meeting about their next step. He watches Thor casually swinging the gauntlet as he walks. The stones catch the Wakandan sunlight, glinting like little sparks of sanguinity.

The lush grass gives way to hard concrete beneath their feet. Several purple dots stain the gray expanse beside Thor’s footsteps as he walks. That, it seems, breaks the peaceful spell. “Alright,” Tony proclaims. “When we get kicked out of this country because Mary Anne Bell over here just had to keep his war prize, don’t blame me.”

Steve snaps, whipping around to face Tony. “Will you shut up about the God damn head?”

Tony crinkles his brow at Steve. Thankfully, Thor breaks in before Tony can open his mouth. “He is right. This is not what we should be dwelling on.”

Shuri appears at the doors of the palace then, buzzing with excitement as she makes grabby hands for the gauntlet.

“Careful, young one,” Thor warns. “We must take it apart before you can interact with the stones.”

“Well then what are you waiting for? Bring it inside!” Shuri cries. When Thor goes to step into the palace, she notices the dismembered head and protests. “Are you insane? My mom is going to kill me if you dirty the carpet with that.”

“I can explain it to her,” Thor proposes.

Shuri gives him an incredulous look. When she sees that he is completely serious, she offers an alternative. “I will ask someone to bring you adequate storage for it.”

With the head situation sorted out, the Avengers gather in one of Shuri’s outer work spaces. It’s the same place where she worked on the Mind Stone. More importantly, it is separate from her actual lab, which she doesn’t allow just anybody to enter.

As soon as she begins to examine the gauntlet, problems arise. Tony wants to have a look too. He stands at her side and pesters her for a turn controlling the magnifier she is using. “Back up, Stark, or go back to New York,” she warns.

“I cannot believe this,” Tony exclaims.

“Of course, you can’t. You are accustomed to getting everything you want.”

“Says the literal princess,” Tony fires back.

Shuri ignores him and looks to Thor. “Pick that up, please. We are moving,” she announces. Thor does as he’s told, eyes following the back and forth quarreling.

“Are you serious? Look, point well taken: you hate me. But guess what? We’re gonna have to work together on this, so you gotta get over it,” Tony tells her.

Shuri turns to him, seething. “One: I don’t need your help. And two: do not forget that you are in my house.”

Steve steps between them before anything else can be said. “Enough,” he snaps. It’s mostly directed to Tony, who is about to further infuriate Shuri with whatever he is planning on saying next.

“Steve, I cannot deal with him right now. I’m not kidding.” There’s a real honesty to her tone. She meets his eyes and sees that he is going to let her leave without argument. Then, she and Thor do exactly that.

Rocket sneaks off after them, but the others are promised an update later and barred from entering her lab. Most of them end up in the common area of the Avengers’ quarters. Tony paces, ranting to Bruce and threatening to return to New York.

“Tony, stop yelling,” Natasha says eventually. She’s sitting sideways in one of the lounge chairs, legs dangling over the armrest and rubbing her left temple like she has a headache.

“No, you know what, I can’t,” Tony shouts, this time to Natasha. “That arrogant teenager is risking the lives of all our friends because she refuses to admit there might be something out there that she doesn’t know.”

“I’m not disagreeing, Tony, but it _is_ her lab,” Bruce replies.

“Who cares who the fuck owns the lab? The gauntlet is ours. Thor got it, Thor’s _our_ teammate, so it’s _our_ gauntlet.”

“We can’t think like that,” Nat argues. “It can’t be us vs them.”

Tony turns to Steve, then. “Steve. Back me up,” he urges. “C’mon, you know I’ve got a point. Maybe I’m of no help, who knows. But maybe I am. And shouldn’t we be pulling out all the stops here?”

The room waits. Steve watches Tony as he makes his argument, sees the raw desperation in his eyes. He gets up from his seat. “I’ll go talk to her,” he says.

“Thank you,” Tony breathes, calmed and genuine.

Downstairs, Shuri opens the lab door for Steve without issue. She is fiddling with a magnified hologram of one of the stones when he approaches. Thor and Rocket watch on quietly.

“What brings you down here, Steve? I don’t have any updates, but you are free to watch if you’d like.” She asks, rotating the floating image to examine another aspect of it.

“Thanks, but I came because I’d to speak with you about Tony,” Steve responds.

Shuri stares at Steve for a moment with a neutral expression, effectively communicating how done she already is with this conversation. “What about him?” She asks, resigned.

“Look, I know Tony is a pain in the ass-”

“Yes, that is where this conversation should start and end,” Shuri interrupts.

“Just-…Shuri, as a favor, can you please give him a chance?”

“Give him a chance to do what? Blow up my lab with his inferior missiles? Shoot off my arm?”

Steve shakes his head, not wanting to get into that. “I know it’s your lab and we both know that you owe me nothing.” Shuri purposely nods in agreement. “All I’m saying is: Tony wants to solve this as badly as you do. We all just want to get them back,” Steve tells her gently.

There’s no response for a moment. Shuri taps something on the tablet built into the table in front of her. Thor and Rocket both seem to be avoiding eye contact, probably not wanting to be involved in this. “I need time,” Shuri claims. “And for problematic Avengers to stay out of my lab.”

“I understand that,” Steve tells her, and he does. He detests the in-team fighting himself. Verbally cannibalizing each other doesn’t solve a single thing and yet, they cannot seem to collectively stop it.

Tragedies can give people common ground, or they can highlight the fissures that were already there. The Avengers—a group with common ground and fissures alike—have a choice. They can use this terrible thing to make amends with each other, put aside their differences, and eventually come out stronger. Or, they can crack under the pressure and tear each other to shreds. He is terrified that each day, they are slipping further and further towards the latter.

Shuri looks away from her tablet and up at Steve. “If he makes one comment that I don’t like,” she threatens.

Steve raises his hands, as if in surrender. “You can kick him out and I will never mention him to you again.”

Shuri sighs. “I truly cannot believe how gracious I am,” she states.

Steve grins. “You really are the best, Shuri. Thank you.”

“Don’t I know it.” Shuri calls after him as he turns to leave, referencing his tendency to see things T’Challa’s way instead of hers. “You better remember this when my brother gets back. You owe me!”

  
  


The next time Steve makes his way down to Shuri’s lab, he spots a new decoration. Carefully stuck to the wall beside the entrance, a single piece of lined paper is secured with two pieces of Scotch tape. It reads: 

Stark and Shuri’s Rules:  

  1. No nicknames
  2. No talking about: the quality of Stark Industries weapons, His Majesty King T’Challa, or James Buchanan Barnes
  3. No pestering about Wakandan tech
  4. No pestering about the “panther statue in the jungle”
  5. No whining
  6. Whoever makes the discovery gets to tell the others (and answer ALL questions)
  7. Stark is not allowed in the lab without Shuri UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES
  8. Stark is not allowed to attempt to access the upper floors UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES
  9. No changing the rules unless Shuri agrees
  10. If Stark breaks any of the rules or does anything that Shuri deems inappropriate, he will be kicked out immediately and without warning
  11. If/When Stark is kicked out, he must leave the lab without argument



Below the list, Shuri’s neat signature is written in pen above Tony’s scrawled one. When she catches him eyeing the paper, Steve raises his eyebrows, gesturing to it.

“A child requires clear guidelines,” Shuri explains simply.

“Whatever works,” he agrees. Then, he changes the topic. “How’s it coming?”

“With Stark or the Soul Stone?”

“With the Soul Stone,” he clarifies.

“I believe I am making progress,” she tells him carefully.

Steve keeps his mouth firmly shut. He doesn’t want to pressure her for answers that she doesn’t have. He is not the only one who’s missing someone they love, he reminds himself. The last thing she needs is another grown man disturbing her as she tries to solve this.

Nevertheless, Shuri must sense his dissatisfaction with her answer. As she works, she begins to explain, somewhat distractedly. “Their souls are in the dimension inside the Soul Stone. So, I must access that dimension if I am to bring them back. However, the stone itself has sustained some damage, likely due to whatever Thanos did to bring this about in the first place.”

“Okay,” Steve says, controlled.

Shuri meets his eyes, not fooled in the slightest. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“A few weeks,” she replies. Steve nods. That’s a satisfactory answer. He can do anything for a few weeks, he tells himself. Shuri asks him to hand her a few different tools and he does, watching her work silently until she decides to speak up again. “I have a lab rule for you. You can ask me as many questions as you want, whenever you want. I will give you the most accurate answer that I can. But there is one condition: every time you ask me a question, I get to ask one in return. And you must do the same for me. Deal?”

It’s an easy answer for Steve. “Deal,” he agrees.

“You’ve already asked me two questions today,” she points out. “So, you owe me two answers.”

Steve could make a reasonable argument that those questions were asked before the rule was established and therefore don’t count, but he decides against it.

When she sees that he isn’t going to fight her claim, she smiles, and he is glad that he went along with it. She comes up with her question suspiciously fast. “Who upstairs do you actually trust?”

“Natasha,” he replies without hesitation. Then, he elaborates. “I trust all of them to some extent, but Natasha is on another level, I guess.”

Again, she seems to already have questions stockpiled and ready to go. “What was your first impression of my brother?”

“He was a stranger in a cat suit trying to kill Bucky, so it wasn’t the best. How are you coming up with these questions so quickly?” He fires back.

“I used to play it with Bucky while I ran tests. It helped him relax. When was your first kiss?”

“You mean with Bucky or in general?”

“With Bucky.”

“1937,” he replies.

“Hm. Interesting.” She nods thoughtfully, as if this information is somehow worthy of her careful consideration.

Steve narrows his eyes at her. “Why is that interesting?”

“No reason,” she chirps.

Incredibly, she’s got him questioning himself. Is he forgetting something? “Did he tell you something different?” He asks.

Shuri gives him a satisfied smile. “You owe me three more questions,” she asserts.

Realizing he’s been tricked, he scowls at her.

“Don’t feel bad,” she tells him seriously. “Everyone looks dumb compared to me.”

It’s something Tony would say, except she is even more qualified to say it. Someone like her would have been unfathomable to him just a few years ago. And yet, here she is, bossing him around and making him look like an idiot without being obnoxious about it.

Though he doesn’t dare say it to her face, Bucky is the only thing that he feels she cannot grasp. Not Bucky himself, but SteveandBucky. He has tried to express his gratitude towards her on several occasions, always getting waved off with a comment about white boys and/or Americans not understanding the concept of giving without expecting anything back. It doesn’t bother him though, for two reasons. One, she will figure it out on her own someday. And two, he could explain it to her for days on end and still not get his point across. There is no way to describe how it is to leave half of your soul in the care of a relative stranger and then have it returned happy and healthy.

A thought that he’s been mulling over floats back into his head. Steve turns to Shuri, who has quickly become absorbed in her work. “How ‘bout we make it four that I owe you,” he offers.

“Go ahead.”

“Do you think they’re suffering in there?” He says it quietly, as if that will mask the ugly reality they have found themselves in.

For a moment, she cannot answer him. Shuri respects him too much to give placating half-truths or overstated odds.

“For that, Steven, all we can do is hope.”

  
  


Two dreadful and drawn out weeks go by. 

The stress eats at their team, slowly. It gnaws its way through them in the form of meaningless arguments and outbursts over things that they all know are trivial. Tony and Rhodey end up screaming at each other over a laptop charger and even they are not truly sure what started it. For entire afternoons, the common area remains empty, as no one wants to even look at the others.

Unbeknownst to his teammates, Steve has another space he could go if he wished. Before, he and Bucky had stayed in a private suite whenever they visited the palace. It’s always there; upstairs, decorated to their liking, and filled with their things. The bed is fitted with 1,000 thread count sheets and covered in all kinds of pillows. It’s probably unmade. Bucky’s clothes are probably still scattered on the floor of the walk-in closet. So, Steve has not been up there once since Bucky disappeared and he doesn’t plan on it either.

Instead, Steve tends to retreat to Shuri’s lab when the tension in the Avengers’ quarters reaches a boiling point. Once, he finds himself snapping at her, but she is quick to call him out on it.

“You get sassy with me in my lab, Rogers, and I’ll kick you out just as I do with Stark,” she warns him.

Steve apologizes, she forgives him, and it doesn’t happen again.

It helps to be in the lab with Shuri. She makes him useful, gives him little things to do. She teases him, sometimes brutally so, and he appreciates it.

Still, he never stops missing Bucky. It’s a physical ache deep in his core. Never quite gone, just ebbing and flowing. On good days, he can ignore it. He can get dressed and wash his face and watch the TV shows that Natasha likes. He can go wander down to watch Shuri fiddle with different items that he’s never seen while she politely rambles on about things he doesn’t understand.

On bad days, everything is muted. He is muted.

Bucky—wherever he is—demands part of what Steve is. Part of what he feels must be given away, so Steve spends entire days numbed out. He owes for the time he spends in the world without Bucky, and he always pays up in the end. Steve’s payment comes in the form of days where he doesn’t get out of bed and doesn’t utter a single word. He doesn’t feel like a real person, but more like a collection of fragments sewn together to create the illusion of a complete person. It seems there are great costs to remaining in this universe after your other half has left it.

A few times, he almost brings this idea up to Natasha or Tony. Natasha, because she is the only one he has real, regular talks with. Tony, because he suspects that Tony is experiencing the same thing. Maybe they could relate to each other over this. Maybe this could tick their 90% healed relationship over those last, few percentage points. Maybe Steve will bring it up next time the universe gives him a good chance. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Then, one day, he and Tony are sitting at the breakfast bar in their Wakandan quarters. The entire set-up is freakishly similar to their old arrangement in the Tower. If the jungle outside was replaced with the Manhattan skyline and the tech was dumbed down, it could have easily been a scene from 2013.

Tony’s food preferences haven’t changed; he shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days. Maybe he hasn’t. “Hey Steve? Anybody ever care to explain that huge panther statue out there in the jungle? Like, do they just build panther heads in their spare time or what? Do they sacrifice panthers in that thing?”

Steve shrugs. “No clue. They’re pretty secretive about their customs.”

“Well, I’m gonna assume that they sacrifice panthers and drink their blood then. Must be where the Cat King gets his powers,” Tony concludes, mouth full of scrambled eggs. He has never fully stopped using the present tense to refer to the people who are gone.

“I doubt it,” Steve says. “But I also doubt we’ll ever know. Like I said, they aren’t exactly open books. Just ask Shuri about it and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Nah, that’s your field of expertise. I’m not the one who’s cozy with the royal family.” It’s more of an ambiguous probe than an accusation. Tony is far from self-doubting. However, he does have something against just coming out and asking a question that might stir up emotional distress in the other person. So, they must perform this song and dance until Steve discerns exactly what Tony is trying to uncover.

“I consider T’Challa and Shuri friends of mine, but ‘cozy’ isn’t the word I would use,” Steve responds.

“Rogers. You live in their house,” Tony points out.

Steve shakes his head. “I’ve only lived here as long as you and the others have.” He waits for Tony to catch on.

It doesn’t take more than a second. Tony, if nothing else, is unfailingly quick. “Oh.” He says, eyes widening a little. “Oh,” he repeats. Steve nods but doesn’t verbally respond so, Tony takes another bite of eggs. He chews slowly and swallows his food before talking this time. “So. Where’s Barnes’ place then?”

“Out in the countryside,” Steve replies.

Tony shakes his head, disapproving. “God, leave it to you to hang out in some hut in the middle of nowhere when you’ve got a literal royal palace to sleep in.”

“It’s not so bad out there,” Steve maintains. “Nice and quiet. There was this little gang of village kids who’d follow him around.”

Tony watches him like he’s scanning for an opening, a scab that he can pick at to uncover some hidden truth. Tony likes to see inside people, but he doesn’t like the bleeding mess that lies beneath the skin. He wants information, all while shielding his eyes from the emotions bound to the raw knowledge. Today, the stars have aligned for him. It’s been a good day and Steve is willing to go under the microscope.

“Maybe they told him something about the panther statue,” Tony wonders out loud.

Honestly, Steve figures that Tony is gearing up to ask if they are sleeping together. But Tony is far from predictable and true to his nature, he steers the conversation in a direction Steve didn’t foresee.

“You know what, your birthday’s coming up, old man. We should throw a huge party after this is all over.” Even though Tony’s rambling, something screams that he has been considering this for some time. “It could be half ‘Steve’s birthday’ and half ‘yay our friends are back.’ Do you think he’d come to the Compound? It’s in the middle of nowhere and we could blast the music and get Thor to bring that stuff that you guys drink. Do you think that’d work on him too?”

Steve could say: “I think you should ask him yourself when he gets back, but he’d love the invite.” He wants to say: “It means a lot that you’re considering him in the first place.”

Instead, he narrows his eyes at Tony and says: “Where is this sudden interest coming from? Did Shuri kick you out again?”

Later, Steve will hate that he did this. He asks the universe for a chance to make things right. He tells Natasha that Siberia happened because he’d never had a solid opportunity to sit Tony down. Or, because their lives are too busy. Or, because Tony is closed-off and overly sarcastic. Steve can make all sorts of excuses, but the truth is far simpler. The universe has given him chances, it’s handed them to him on a silver platter. And Steve has thrown away each and every one of them.

Desperately, he wishes that Sam were here because he truly has no idea why he acts like this with Tony. Sam understood Steve like Bucky did, but was more apt at expressing his evaluations of Steve’s behavior. He had the uncanny ability to point things out that Steve himself had missed, even while insisting that “this situation is way beyond my level, man.”

As if he expected nothing else, Tony just nods and goes to put his plate in the sink. “Yeah, she did. Apparently, I was ‘pestering about the panther statue in the jungle.’ Go figure.”

Steve gives Tony a small smile and wishes that he could offer more.

  
  


It is pouring rain on the day that Shuri and Tony tell the team that they have an announcement. 

Everyone heads upstairs to the main conference room. Tony is sitting at the head of the table, rubbing at his wrist like it’s sprained. Natasha is a few seats away, chair pushed back and watching Shuri with that painted on poker face of hers. The room feels like everyone has chugged too much expresso and are now feeding off each other’s jitters.

“Where are they then?” Clint asks.

“Currently, their souls are contained within the reality of the Soul Stone,” Shuri explains.

Tony starts talking quickly. “We all know that part, but-”

Shuri holds up her hand. “Ah ah! Do not interrupt me, Stark. You know the rules. I made this discovery, so I get to explain it.”

Tony crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t open his mouth. Inexplicably, it seems Shuri has trained him. At the very least, she’s gotten him to respect an established set of rules.

She continues as if nothing ever happened. “The Stone holds an entirely different dimension. The complications we faced stemmed from whatever Thanos did with the gauntlet. He made it incredibly difficult to access their dimension, which is why it has taken longer than expected. However, I have found a way. None of you will understand the science so I’m not going to waste my breath. What you need to know is this: we should be able to get them back within a couple of days.”

The room erupts into excited chatter. Steve knew that Shuri was close but knowing that progress is being made is entirely different from hearing her announce success. He can breathe a little easier.

Tony loudly shushes the room. “She’s not finished!” He calls out.

They hush like a classroom of scolded children. All eyes go back to Shuri.

“Thank you,” she says to Tony. “Yes, there is a bit more. There may be some minor side effects. By that, I mean that this process might be taxing on their bodies. We will need to ensure that they receive plenty of protein and sugar when they return. Also, they will likely want to sleep for a while.”

To her credit, Shuri has a way of phrasing things that can make even the most world-ending events sound comprehensible. Her matter-of-fact tone just emulates “this is the way things are so we all better find a way to deal with it.” Still, the mood is noticeably dampened.

Bruce raises his hand. “Where are they going to…uh, appear?”

“Hopefully, in the place they disappeared,” Shuri answers.

“Hopefully?” Rocket breaks in.

“I’d say it is 90 percent certain.”

Bruce blinks incredulously, like he still cannot believe his life. “And what about the other 10 percent? Then, everyone appears in a random spot in the universe?”

“We can’t focus on every little thing like that,” Tony tells him. “Just. It’s 95 percent they’ll be in the right spot.”

“Will they remember anything?” Steve asks. He’s standing, arms folded across his chest. He must continuously remind himself not to pace but can’t find the restraint to sit down.

“I cannot be sure,” Shuri admits. She has uttered some variation of that far too often in the past month. A little bit of her light—that cocky confidence only a teenager can truly pull off—was taken away with her brother.

They schedule the un-doing for the afternoon of the next day, like they’re trying to get everyone together for a lunch. Tony insists he must be on a planet called Titan before the switch but also needs to arrange for Happy to be in New York with Pepper. Clint secures a jet back to the United States.

They set a press conference for later that day and fill the rest of the time spreading the word to various news agencies. While they’ve been holed up in Wakanda, the planet has continued to turn. There is a larger world out there; one that deserves to be warned that the population is set to double in the next 24 hours. Luckily, they can broadcast to the world from Wakanda.

As they walk towards the briefing room, which is in a separate building, they are given umbrellas and ponchos. Still, very little can be done to prevent the downpour from soaking through. Once inside, they are met by a room of damp reporters. People from all over the world huddle to hear what they have to say. They shake the rain from their hair or tie it up to control the dripping. Cameras are strategically placed and then fiddled with by their owners, who meticulously adjust settings.

With the scheduled start time approaching, the cameras go on and the Avengers file out in front of them. There’s a long table with microphones in front of each chair. Steve is smack dab in the middle, Tony on his left side and Okoye on his right. Tony starts to give the opening disclaimer, saying that Steve is going to speak and then they’ll take a few questions. As he talks, Steve scans the audience for his favorite reporters. When the Avengers were a fixture in Manhattan, he had in-depth opinions on an absurd number of people in the media. Pepper used to have stacks of paper just to keep track of everyone’s partialities. They each had approved magazines and newspapers, blacklisted journalists, and an ordered list of their preferred news networks. If the odds are to be believed, half of his favorite reporters couldn’t be here today because they stopped existing last month.

Tony wraps his introduction up and turns to Steve. “You’re up, Rogers.”

“Twenty-three days ago, the world suffered an unspeakable catastrophe,” he begins. The room is silent, a sea of desperately hopeful eyes blinking up at him. For the first time in a while, Steve is absolutely positive that he will not let anyone down today. Despite the Avengers best efforts, people have suffered because of their actions. They’ve knocked down buildings and destroyed the lives of innocents in their quest for a safer world. Today, they balance out their mistakes.

His socks are wet and uncomfortable in his shoes, but he couldn’t be happier to be in that room.

  
  


After the press conference, they return to the palace and the Avengers scatter. Thor and Tony get ready to take off for Titan in the morning. Clint is in the air and bound for Iowa before the sun has completely set in Wakanda. Everyone seems to be moving and speaking at once as the palace gradually empties. 

“Steve, can I talk to you?” Shuri asks, and he just knows already that it’s something bad. At her request, they head down to her pristine white lab. The door hisses shut behind them, leaving only the whir of the machines.

Shuri doesn’t beat around the bush. Steve likes that about her. “I’m going to explain something to you and you are not allowed to needlessly panic until I am finished, understand?”

That only makes Steve want to needlessly panic even more, but he agrees.

“Due to his enhanced metabolism, it is likely that the exhaustion I described earlier will affect Bucky more than the others. But! It is highly unlikely to put him in any serious medical danger. To minimize the risk, you should try to make him eat or drink as many calories as possible. I will have someone from his medical team prepare an IV as a precaution.” Shuri speaks like she’s instructing him what to pick up from the supermarket. “Are you needlessly panicking?”

“A little,” Steve admits.

“Well, stop it then. Needlessly panicking is against my lab rules.”

“No,” Steve replies, pointing to the list of rules she stuck to the wall for Tony last month. “It isn’t.”

“Those are Stark’s rules. You have a different set. I just haven’t bothered to write them down yet.”

Steve gives her a skeptical look. “Number one,” she announces, “is ‘no needlessly panicking.’ Two is ‘no pestering about the rules.’ So, you’ve already broken two rules within the past minute or so. Congratulations, it’s a new record.”

“So, I can panic, but only if it’s needed,” he says.

“You can panic even if it’s not needed, such as now. You just can’t do it in my lab,” she clarifies. “God, do you Americans ever listen? No wonder you’re always getting to civil wars.”

Steve considers asking which civil war she is referring to, but he’d rather go back to their original topic. “So, about Bucky-”

“About Bucky, he will be fine,” she interjects. “He will likely not feel great, he may be somewhat lethargic. But Wakanda has healed far worse than what he _might_ experience. And look on the bright side: you can nurse him back to health. You will love that.”

Steve opens his mouth to defend himself, but she holds up a hand. “Ah! Rule number three is ‘no lying.’”

“I wasn’t going to lie!” He insists.

Shuri just rolls her eyes at him and starts to mess with something on the lab’s main table. “Besides,” she adds, “you owe him from that time you threw up on his shoes.”

Caught off guard, Steve splutters. “What? I-…He told you about that?”

Shuri waggles her eyebrows. “Oh, he’s told me much more than that,” she says suggestively.

“What!?” Steve repeats. “Like…like what kind of stuff?”

She bursts out laughing, clearly loving every bit of this. “Relax! I’m obviously kidding!”

Steve glares at her, not believing at all that it was a ruse.

“Alright, he may have told me a little bit more than that. But nothing too juicy, I promise.” When Steve continues to stare suspiciously at her, she starts imitating Bucky. And doing a pretty damn good job of it, too. “How old are you again?” She mocks, emulating an American accent and tilting her head from side to side. “Isn’t it illegal for me to tell a child that?”

Steve shrugs. “He’s got a point.”

Shuri shoos him away. “Rule number four is weighing in on disagreements between me and Bucky. You are officially kicked out!”

She chases him out the door, but he leaves laughing.

  
  


The next morning, Natasha tags along when Steve heads down to Shuri’s lab. Thor and Tony have just taken off. There are only 4 hours until they get their friends back and the mood in the palace is festive. Though the lab’s sound system, Shuri is blasting Childish Gambino. She works casually on one of the Black Panther suits while entrapping Steve and Natasha into her question game. Okoye comes down for another reason, but she ends up getting stuck too. With four people, it’s near impossible to keep track of who owes who but that doesn’t diminish the untroubled fun. 

“If you could choose only one foreigner to let in, who would you choose?” Natasha asks when it’s her turn.

“None, I don’t like any of you,” Okoye answers immediately. Her delivery is so matter-of-fact that it makes Natasha give a surprised laugh.

“I think Bucky,” Shuri says. She has abandoned T’Challa’s suit in favor of messing with the Soul Stone. When Steve pretends to be hurt, she explains her choice. “You’re too much trouble, Steven. And Bucky is more supportive of my music preferences.”

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” Steve asks.

“Hey, it’s my turn next,” Shuri scolds him. She playfully scrubs the magnified image of the Soul Stone like a DJ, sending the picture back and forth. Okoye admonishes her for playing with it, but she insists she’s only getting things ready. It takes her another minute to come up with a question she deems worthy. “Natasha, if you could only keep three teammates, who would you keep?”

Now, Steve is intrigued. Three pairs of eyes go to Natasha, who considers her response. “Steve and Sam, definitely. I don’t even know Barnes, but I guess I’ll keep him because I don’t want to see Steve’s sad face all the time.”

Shuri laughs loudly. “Okoye’s turn!” She calls out. She starts poking at the stone with a pointy tool. It’s sitting in its little stand on her table. Steve wonders if the others realize how absurd it is that they are playing this childish game in the same room as a universe-ending gem.

Okoye thinks for a moment. “Steve, when is the last time you flexed in a mirror?”

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “Why am I always the target of this game,” he complains.

“You’re the most fun to tease,” Natasha says.

Suddenly, Shuri goes very still. “Oops,” she whispers. It’s mostly to herself but the room’s attention zones in on her.

Natasha whips around. “Oops?!”

Shuri jumps away from her table, like it’s burned her. She looks to Okoye, eyes wide and insisting. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t think it was going to happen so fast.”

Steve steps in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “You didn’t mean to do what?” He demands. There’s a small groan from the corner of the lab. Simultaneously, four heads swivel in the direction of the sound.

It’s a lab tech, lying on the ground. His hand twitches where it lies on his chest. They watch, transfixed as his eyes blink open and he squints at the light. Okoye goes to his side and he mutters something in Xhosa. Steve doesn’t understand, and it doesn’t matter. Only one thing registers: he wasn’t there a moment ago.

“I’m sorry,” Shuri is still swearing in the background. “I thought it would take more time than that!”

Steve turns on his heel, exits though the nearest door, and breaks into a full sprint towards the jungle.

Somewhere in his peripheral consciousness, he knows that Natasha is running after him. It’s inconsequential though, because the only two people who can keep up with Steve are out in the jungle he’s running towards. Or, at least, he can hope as much. He hasn’t been to this exact spot in twenty-four days, but it’s been forever cemented in his brain. Even without the post-serum eidetic memory, Steve doubts he could ever forget this specific plot of Wakandan soil.

When Steve finally reaches his destination, Bucky is already awake and pushing himself into a sitting position. Steve scrambles to his side. Just as he did in the grimy basement of Zola’s lab, he pulls Bucky up and touches the side of his face, swiftly taking him in. Unlike in 1943, Bucky appears utterly unharmed; he isn’t even sweating.

“Wha’happened?” Bucky asks, confusedly scanning the jungle around them.

“Bucky,” he breathes; it’s all he can say. He smooths Bucky’s hair away from his face, inexplicably as soft as it was on the day he disappeared. Steve can see the growing anxiety in Bucky’s eyes, probably because his own are steadily filling with tears. “You’re okay,” Steve tells him fiercely, because he is and that alone is an incredible thing.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He wrinkles his brow in concern, dragging a fingertip down Steve’s cheek. Then, he leans in closer and whispers conspiratorially. “Who do I gotta beat up?”

With a grin splitting his face and tears sliding down his cheeks, Steve shakes his head. It’s such a Bucky thing to say. “Nobody, Buck,” his voice coming out as crackled laughter.

“C’mere,” Bucky tells him softly, tugging at his shirt.

That, Steve cannot disobey. He wraps his arms tightly around Bucky’s neck, holding him as close as physically possible. Bucky rests a hand on the back of Steve’s head and runs his metal fingers through his hair. He murmurs soft comforts in Steve’s ear and Steve knows, guiltily, that he is scaring him. He pulls away and swipes the tears from his face as Bucky studies him.

Shuri’s instructions buzz in the back of his head like a warning siren. Bucky needs calories and to be inside, where an IV can easily be brought in. “I’ll explain, but we need to find the others and go inside. Can you stand up?”

Bucky pops up, showing none of the symptoms Shuri warned about. They start towards the approximate location of Sam and—hopefully—Nat. Steve knows that Bucky deserves the full truth about what happened. So, taking his hand and pulling him along, he begins to tell it.

When he reaches the part about them being gone for some time, Bucky interrupts, jaw tight. “What year is it?”

“It’s still 2018. You guys were only gone 24 days,” Steve assures him. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and runs a thumb across the back of it. When Bucky doesn’t look convinced, he adds, “I promise, Buck.”

They start running into the others. Groot looks as unaffected as Bucky is. He walks alongside Rocket, who seems to understand him perfectly. Bruce has Wanda in a bridal carry, but she’s awake. He tells them that Sam is with Nat and Rhodey and that T’Challa is already inside.

As fate would have it, Sam is the last one that they stumble across. He’s walking with a little help from Rhodey and Nat. Steve has to consciously remind himself not to tackle him in a hug.

As usual, Sam sees right through him. “How hard are you trying not to hug me right now?”

Steve grins at him. He’s never been a big crier, but he feels his eyes tearing up again and can’t bring himself to mind. “Pretty hard,” he admits.

“You’ll get me later, I’m sure,” Sam tells him. Upon noticing Bucky’s presence, he narrows his eyes and questions him. “Were you disappeared too?”

“I guess so,” Bucky replies.

“We were in there together?” Sam asks. “Nah, I would definitely remember that.”

Bucky scowls at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve sighs, having flashbacks to a tiny car and a European road trip that seemed never-ending. “No, you guys are not starting this already.” He pointedly pulls Bucky around to his other side, interlacing their fingers on the new side so that he’s separated from Sam. Bucky goes willingly. However, out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see them making faces at each other.

Maybe their bickering will get on his nerves later, but it’s a savored treat now.

As they filter into the palace, they’re handed energy bars by a guard, who is standing by the door with an inordinate amount of them. Sam shoves his into his mouth in quick bites, swallowing quickly and making faces as he does. Bucky does the opposite; he unwraps the bar but takes the smallest bite possible and then simply carries it around with him.

Nobody wants to let their newly returned friends out of their sight, but the common room isn’t quite big enough to fit everyone. Bruce made it back first, so Wanda is sitting on one of the couches as she nibbles on an energy bar. Rocket has placated Groot with someone’s phone. So, Steve and Natasha guide Sam down the hall while Rhodey goes to call New York and check on Pepper.

They end up in Natasha’s room, just because it’s closer than Steve’s. Bucky trails in after them, still seemingly unaffected. He watches curiously as Sam sits down on the bed, scowling up at him.

“How come it’s you that gets off easy?” He asks bitterly.

Bucky shrugs.

“He’s not getting off easy,” Steve interjects. “Buck, at least sit down. You need to finish that.” He points to the almost-full calorie bar in Bucky’s hand.

“It tastes horrible,” he complains, holding it out to Steve. “Here, try.”

Resigned, Steve takes it from him. Natasha, Sam, and Bucky watch Steve take the most miniscule bite possible, chew for a moment, and then make a face.

“See!” Bucky shouts.

Sam puts his head in one hand. “Quit your screaming, Barnes. You’re giving me a damn headache,” he claims.

“That’s actually just the universe-ending side effects,” Natasha clarifies.

“I don’t care what it is,” Sam says. “It sucks, and I’m going back to sleep now.” He turns around and crawls up to the head of the bed. He pulls back the duvet with only mild difficulty. Then, he’s essentially down for the count.

At Steve’s insistence, Bucky sits on the edge of the bed and takes another little bite of the bar. Now that Sam and Bucky are effectively separated, it feels peaceful. The door is closed, Sam’s breathing has evened out, and nobody is speaking. The rest of the team is being taken care of. Their universe is whole. For Steve and Natasha, the only job that exists is making sure that these two souls get some food and sleep.

Bucky breaks the silence first. “So, when we were gone, where were we?”

“Your souls were in some other dimension inside the Soul Stone,” Steve tells him, sitting down at his side.

“Hm,” Bucky says, mulling over this new information before moving on. “Were the kids from the village here? Did they miss me?”

“Some of them were here, and yes, they missed you very much.”

“I think we all know how to say, ‘White Wolf’ in Xhosa now,” Natasha adds.

Bucky peppers them with questions, taking a small break after each one to consider his next. He wants to know who was gone and who was here. He wonders if his hair has gotten any longer (it hasn’t). He asks why he must eat this revolting energy bar, why Natasha had said Sam’s headache was a side effect, and what the Soul Stone dimension is supposed to be like.

“Will I ever remember what happened in there?” He asks.

“I’m not sure, Buck,” Steve responds for what seems like the 20th time. He hates having to give all these non-answers, but there is so much that they don’t know. There is so much that even Shuri doesn’t know, things they will likely never discover.

While it’s clear the replies aren’t satisfying Bucky’s curiosity, he doesn’t argue. He takes another bite of the energy bar each time Steve asks him to and never interrupts the stories they tell him about the month he missed.

Steve swears he can tell the moment Bucky starts feeling badly. Their mothers used to claim they had a connection as small children. They loved to tell the story of the night Steve had developed a particularly nasty flu. A few blocks over, Bucky had woken up and gone to his mother’s bed, crying hysterically for no foreseeable reason. This incident, their mothers repeatedly argued, only had one explanation.

Personally, Steve had chalked it up to every mother thinking their utterly ordinary kid is somehow spectacular. But now, quietly, he thinks he might believe it just a little bit.

Bucky’s head drops onto Steve’s shoulder like the extra contact might let him sap some of Steve’s energy through osmosis.

“You alright, Buck?”

“Mmm,” is Bucky’s only reply. It’s probably meant to be a “yes,” but it only confirms Steve’s suspicions. He asks Nat to retrieve one of the calorie shakes from the refrigerator and she does, returning quickly. She unscrews the cap and holds it in one hand while she gives the uncapped bottle to Steve.

Steve pulls away from Bucky, forcing him to sit up and trying to press the bottle into his palm. He is pale and oddly limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. Bucky refuses to close his fingers around the bottle so, Steve lifts it to his lips instead. He doesn’t let Bucky turn his head away. “No, you’ve gotta drink this, Buck.”

“Should I call Shuri?” Natasha asks.

“No, she’s with T’Challa,” Steve responds. She’s only 17 and she hasn’t seen her big brother in a month and she did all that work for them. Steve can at least take care of this one thing. Shuri adores Bucky and she’s done more for him than Steve could have ever imagined, but he’s not her responsibility. It’s not her job to let him use her shirt as a Kleenex or recognize when he needs a break from a social setting or get up with him after he’s had a nightmare.

Nobody ever really warned Steve that love isn’t all forehead kisses and spooning in bed. Loving Bucky isn’t always pretty. Sometimes, it’s holding his head into the toilet bowl before he pukes on the bathroom floor. Sometimes, it’s pulling hair out of the shower drain because he refuses to get a haircut. Sometimes, like right now, it's forcing a calorie shake down his throat. And all that dirty work, the gross stuff that Hollywood ignores, that’s firmly in Steve’s territory.

He tilts Bucky’s chin up and pours some of the shake into his mouth so that he has no choice but to drink it. As soon as he swallows, Steve goes to repeat the process. He manages it twice more before Bucky puts some effort into turning his head. It’s his metal hand that goes to shove the bottle away, but it’s troublingly weak.

Allowing it for now, Steve lowers the bottle. “Feel any better?”

Bucky shakes his head miserably.

“I think he needs an IV,” Natasha comments.

Bucky shakes his head again. “I don’t like IVs,” he states.

“Try drinking some more,” Steve says, offering him the calorie shake. Bucky hesitates but takes it this time. He drinks it in little sips.

When only about a third of the drink remains, he stops and asks for the date. Natasha glances at her watch and tells him. Bucky raises his gaze to her. “Have we actually met?” He asks.

“Not officially,” she replies, amused.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. He passes the shake from his right hand to his left and then reaches out with his human arm.

They shake hands. “Natasha,” she says.

“Nice to meet you.” Bucky’s head lolls back to Steve’s shoulder and his eyes close. It can’t hurt to let him have a little rest, Steve tells himself. He rubs Bucky’s back and takes the bottle, so it doesn’t spill.

After a moment, Natasha nods approvingly at Steve. “I like him,” she says.

“Me too,” Steve replies distractedly. “Do you think it’s okay to let him sleep even though he didn’t finish that?”

“Steve, I am the furthest thing from a doctor,” she reminds him. It reminds Steve of how Sam used to insist that his position at the VA did not qualify him to give psychological evaluations on a brainwashed assassin he’d never met.

Steve pushes her anyways. “Neither am I, but what do you think?”

Natasha thinks and studies Bucky. She takes the bottle from Steve, screwing the cap back on and tilting it to get a better view of how much liquid is left. “Shuri told you he had to drink it all?” She asks as she sets the bottle on the dresser behind her.

“Yeah.”

“Then I think we should give him a minute and then try to make him finish it.”

Steve nods. Natasha turns her studying gaze to him now. She tilts her head curiously. “You trust me,” she finally says.

If he recalls correctly, this has been old news for some time now. “Yes, I do.”

“No, but-” She shakes her head, looking touched beyond what the moment calls for. “You trust me with his well-being.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugs.

“I trust you with his well-being,” he repeats.

Natasha nods and doesn’t say anything else. She checks on Sam, who is still passed out on the bed and hasn’t even rolled over. Then she leaves the room, likely for the bathroom or just to leave Steve alone with Bucky. Steve’s left palm is still resting on Bucky’s back, warmed from the contact. His head has fallen forward just a touch and his hair is in front of his eyes. Steve carefully tucks it behind his ear, craning his neck to watch Bucky’s sleeping face.

The door opens slowly and Natasha steps back inside. She returns to her place in front of Steve, leaning against the dresser. Natasha speaks to him like she entered the room; gentle, as if she wants to avoid startling him.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she offers.

“They’re really back,” Steve responds in wonder.

“They are” she confirms. Then, she falls silent and simply lets him marvel. The sound of Sam’s gentle breathing fills the room and he can feel Bucky’s chest rise and fall with every breath he takes; little reminders of their existences.

Just then, Shuri strides through the door like she’s been summoned. She’s grinning as she makes a beeline for Bucky and instructs Steve to wake him up.

Trying to ease him back into consciousness, Steve runs a hand up and down his back. “Buck,” he murmurs. When they were kids, he would occasionally wake Bucky up for school like this. They were rarely allowed to have sleepovers on school nights, but their mothers allowed it from time to time. Bucky enjoyed school more than Steve did, but he detested getting up in time to go.

Steve shrugs his shoulder a little, jostling Bucky’s head just enough to be annoying. He makes a displeased noise and doesn’t open his eyes. “Bucky,” he says, a little firmer. “C’mon, wake up, pal.”

Bucky’s eyelids flutter open; a simple and wonderous thing. He’s frowning as he lifts his head to take in his surroundings. Crouching in front of him, Shuri takes his face in both of her hands. “How’s my favorite broken white boy?” She coos.

“Quit that,” Bucky groans, lazily swatting her away.

Shuri clicks her tongue at him, still beaming. “That is no way to greet a princess, Bucky.” Aside from Steve, she remains the only one to call him that. Not that the others have had much of a chance to call him anything at all.

When Shuri takes his right wrist and pinches the skin on the back of his hand, Bucky starts protesting again. “Inkosazana, quit.”

She ignores him and holds up a finger. “Follow my finger with your eyes only,” she instructs, moving her finger from side to side and then up and down. In Xhosa, she asks, “Is he treating you well?”

“Yes,” Bucky responds in English.

“Not driving you crazy?” She probes, still in Xhosa.

Bucky smiles just a little and sticks to English. His Xhosa is decent, but he likes the looks on Steve and Natasha’s faces as they try to piece things together. “Not yet. Why?”

“Because he’s been driving me crazy worrying about you for the past month,” she informs him. Then, she switches to English for the benefit of the room. “You’re fine. Not good, but not terrible either. Finish your shake and go to sleep. You’ll need to drink another one in 3 to 4 hours. After that, you should be able to return to your usual eating habits.” She turns to Steve, pointing accusingly at him. “ _No_ strenuous activity. I mean it.”

Predictably, Steve stutters and protests. Shuri doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she motions for Natasha to hand her the calorie shake. Natasha, smirking, passes it over.

Becoming serious, Shuri holds the bottle in front of Bucky. “I am not leaving this room until you drink this,” she tells him.

Bucky doesn’t seem to have a problem with this. He leans his head on Steve’s shoulder and doesn’t take the bottle. “Alright, have fun. I’m going to sleep.”

“Bucky!” She snaps.

He smiles up at her, enjoying that he can get to her so easily. Shuri glares at him even after he takes the shake from her hand. “That does not work on me,” she tells him.

Not discouraged, Bucky insists. “Sure, it does.” He flashes his “1940s smile” and takes a pointedly drink of the calorie shake. In all the time Steve has known him, Bucky’s method of getting things he wants has undergone very little change. He smiles and focuses on you, and then he gives you something that you want. Steve is honestly not sure what the next step would be because he’s never gotten that far.

A smile tugs at Shuri’s lips but she doesn’t let it win. “You, isithandwa, have been spoiled by a lifetime of unconditional love,” she tells him.

That, Bucky has no response to. He quickly downs the rest of the shake and holds it up for her to see. Satisfied, Shuri says her goodbyes and leaves to return to her brother’s side.

“Alright,” Natasha announces. “Are you guys gonna sleep here or not? Because if you’re staying here, I’m taking your bed, Steve.”

Steve looks to Bucky. Bucky scoffs, motioning to Sam’s sleeping form. “I am not sleeping in the same bed as Wilson. He’s definitely going to kick me.”

“Fine with me,” Natasha agrees. She flops onto the bed, peeling off her socks and flinging them away.

Steve stands up first and pulls Bucky up with both hands. They say their goodbyes to Natasha and head down the hall.

Though he has never been in this room before, Bucky makes himself right at home. He heads straight for the closet and begins digging around. Steve is finished changing by the time Bucky emerges with a t-shirt that he has deemed acceptable.

“Are my pillows still upstairs?” He asks.

In their suite upstairs, Bucky has a rather ridiculous collection of pillows and blankets. It’s his collection, but Steve has really done all the collecting. Among others, he brought back a baby blue fleece throw from Amsterdam and a ridiculous pancake pillow from Japan.

When Steve couldn’t visit for a while, he found a blanket on Etsy that reads “lol ur not bucky barnes” and jumped through an absurd number of hoops to have it mailed to Wakanda. After realizing that Etsy would ship things to Wakanda, Bucky ordered himself a decorative pillow. It reads “live laugh lube” and looks like it belongs in a white, suburban American living room.

“Yep, right where you left ‘em,” Steve assures him.

He blatantly watches as Bucky strips off all his tact gear, leaving it in a heap. The outfit is different but, the pile on the floor could easily be mistaken for Bucky’s old war uniform. It’s the same shade of blue that was once discarded in their tents and barracks. How incredibly lucky he is, to have that navy still lying on his bedroom floor.

When Steve gapes at him, but it’s more in awe of Bucky’s existence rather than a lustful gaze. Nevertheless, he can’t blame Bucky for assuming. He smirks at Steve from the bed even as he can hardly keep his eyes open.

“Didn’t your ma ever tell you not to stare?” He asks around a yawn.

Abruptly, it hits Steve how remarkably well Bucky is handling all of this. He didn’t panic when he woke up with memory loss and missing time. Or, when he was barely able to hold his head up and told he might have to be stuck with needles. Even now, he just gives Steve a sleepy smile and reaches out for him with one hand.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve tells him, accepting Bucky’s outstretched hand and letting himself be pulled into bed. He slides under the covers and is enveloped by warmth. Bucky, who cannot hear Steve’s inner monologue, gives him a questioning look. “You’re handling this whole thing really well,” Steve explains.

“Honestly,” he replies, “I’ll probably freak out later.”

“That’s okay.”

If anyone on Earth has earned the right to freak out a little, it’s Bucky, and Steve tells him as much. He kisses Bucky’s forehead and then his temple.

“You’re biased,” Bucky says in a low tone. He accepts the excessive affection now because he knows Steve needs it, rather than feeling like he entirely deserves it. Still, he’s not complaining.

Bucky lets Steve guide his head forward and cradle his skull like a newborn against Steve’s chest. His metal hand is loosely closed and tucked against his cheek, sure to leave patterned imprints on his skin. Part of Steve wants to keep Bucky awake for a few more minutes, just so he can talk to him and hear his voice and experience everything that he is for a little bit longer. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to be separated in any way, even if it’s just to sleep.

It only takes a minute for Bucky’s right arm, which is wrapped around Steve’s waist, to go slack. He shifts ever so slightly against Steve’s chest. It feels vulnerable and miraculous to be able to hold him while he floats on the edge on unconsciousness. Moments like this always bring out Steve’s overprotective urges. There’s an unreasonable voice in the back of his mind that just wants to lock the door, close everyone else off, and cradle Bucky up in all the softest blankets he can find. Steve settles for running a hand up and down his back, feeling like his ribcage can hardly contain the enormity of his affection for Bucky.

“I love you,” Steve rasps, trying to convey that physically as he strokes the hair away from Bucky’s face.

“Love you back,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s shirt, sweet and sleepy.

The steady movement of Steve’s fingers in his hair gently soothes him to sleep. Like a contagion, Steve begins to feel drowsy almost immediately. He’s careful not to jostle Bucky too much as he sets an alarm on his phone, ensuring that they will wake up for Bucky to have another calorie shake. It’s such a simple luxury, to have nowhere to be but here, and he has sorely missed it.

With the alarm set and Bucky securely tucked against his chest, Steve rests.

**Author's Note:**

>   * The "bedtime story" Natasha reads to Steve is _Mindhunter: Inside the FBI’s Elite Serial Crime Unit_ by John E. Douglas
>   * Tony's "Cap Clique" comment came from [this RDJ interview](http://ew.com/article/2015/12/03/robert-downey-jr-politics-iron-man-civil-war/)
>   * The dialogue between Steve and Thanos is taken from the comics, which I have never read and probably hella contradicted
>   * Tony calls Thor “Mary Anne Bell” when he’s carrying Thanos’ head, which is a reference to _The Things They Carried_ by Tim O’Brien. In the book, she has a necklace of tongues.
>   * Shuri mentioning that Bucky is more supportive of her music preferences (while she's playing Childish Gambino) came from Sebastian Stan mentioning that he [stans Donald Glover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2i_SLAQPpU)
>   * Inkosazana: princess
>   * Isithandwa: darling/sweetheart
>   * Xhosa translations were ridiculously hard to find but both above are from [this site](http://www.gononda.com/xhosa/)
>   * [Bucky's "live laugh lube" pillow](https://society6.com/product/live-laugh-lube-poster_pillow?sku=s6-4613259p26a18v129a25v193)
>   * Unfortunately, the “lol ur not bucky barnes” blanket doesn’t appear to exist, but the idea came from an Etsy “lol ur not harry styles” shirt, which I legitimately own
> 

> 
> Come cry over Infinity War with me on [tumblr! ](http://starspangledstyles.tumblr.com)


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